Lessons in Art
by SavvyEnigma
Summary: Expanded drabble. Sam has a secret, Sunstreaker finds out and does something about it. What secret? Hint, read the title. Or the story. I found it amusing, but that's just me.  Maybe you have a dif. opinion. Yes, my summary sucks. T for safety. Sum.edited
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer and Stuff: Okay, I couldn't resist expanding this piece of drabble. No, I do not own Transformers or anything else that you might recognize, except for the crazy idea of Sunstreaker giving Sam art lessons. Yes, this might seem OOC.

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><p><em><strong>Art<strong>_

_Sam liked drawing. He wasn't all that good at it—in his opinion—but it was something he enjoyed. He never told anyone, until he lost his sketchpad and later found Sunstreaker looking through it. Five minutes later, Sunstreaker was teaching him how to draw "properly."_

_"You have talent. Stop wasting it."_

_"Okaaay." Sam looked at his sketch pad. "So, no more stick figures?"_

_Sunstreaker glared at him._

_"Hey, they were good stick figures!" He defended._

_Sunstreaker carefully flipped open the book and pointed to a drawing of a stick figure, then flipped to the next page over, revealing a very detailed and realistic sketch of Optimus._

_"Okay, no more stick figures."_

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><p>Sam had a secret, something he never told anyone. He liked to draw, and he had several sketchbooks filled with drawings, the contents of which ranged from simple stick figures—he loved drawing those—to highly detailed sketches that were nearly life-like. Some of it was abstract, there were several pages dedicated to nothing but tiny doodles and some were drawings of what he thought Cybertron would look like. He didn't think he was all that good, and never bothered to get a second opinion.<p>

Then he lost his sketchbook at the Autobot base while he was staying for the weekend while his parents were on holidays.

"Come on, come on," Sam muttered, running his hands through his hair distractedly as he looked around for his sketchbook. "Where'd I put it?" It wasn't in his room, which meant he'd left it somewhere else in the base. With a sigh, he left to hunt it down.

He'd been looking for close to twenty minutes before he found it in the rec room, held Sunstreaker, who was staring intently at the small—to him—pieces of paper. Sam froze. For one, someone was actually looking at his drawings, and two, it was Sunstreaker.

The yellow mech looked up, and his optics narrowed. "These are yours?"

"Uh, yeah. Can, um . . . can I have it back?" Sam asked hesitantly, wary of the massive fingers pinching his book.

"You have talent."

"What?" Sam blinked, unable to believe what he was hearing. Sunstreaker was complimenting him?

"Stop wasting it." Sunstreaker growled.

"Uh . . ."

Irritated, Sunstreaker sent a huff of air at the book, flipping the pages to a drawing of a stick figure. He glared at Sam. "Stop wasting your talent with this . . . garbage."

". . . You don't want me drawing stick figures? That's kinda funny, since I thought they were my best work." Sam muttered.

Sunstreaker flipped to the next page, pointing at a sketch of Optimus. "This, human, is far better than that atrocity." He snapped.

"Can I have the book back, please?" Sam asked wearily. "I mean, I just do it for fun, and I'm not even good at it, so why—GAH!"

Sunstreaker grabbed him and dropped him on the table, pulling out a datapad. "Sit." He snapped, optics narrowed dangerously.

Sam gulped as he followed the order. "Err, what are you doing?" He asked timidly.

"Giving you art lessons."

"Oh. That's cool." Sam blinked. "Wait, you're giving me lessons?"

"I was an artist back on Cybertron." Sunstreaker said flatly. "Now, pay attention, human."

"My name is Sam." He muttered, pulling a pencil out of his pocket.

"Before we begin, I'm going to set out some rules for you to follow. First, no stick figures."

"They were good stick figures!" Sam defended.

Sunstreaker glared at him, and he winced.

"Fine. No stick figures."

"Second, never let me hear you say you're not any good. You're not bad, just an amateur. And third, no one else hears about this."

Sam nodded hurriedly. He wasn't all that keen about anyone else learning he drew, so keeping silent about the lessons would be easy to do.

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><p>They soon developed a pattern. When Sunstreaker wanted to give Sam a lesson, he'd tell him by glaring at him for a long period of time. The "no stick figures" glare. When Sam wanted to ask him for a lesson, he'd hum the first bars of "You Are My Sunshine" whenever he got close enough to Sunstreaker for him to hear it.<p>

Sunstreaker soon started teaching him how to paint, then moved on to Cybertronian techniques. Sideswipe, of course, knew about the lessons and enjoyed calling Sam "Sunstreaker's Apprentice" or "Padawan" at every opportunity he could find. Their secret was so well kept that even Bumblebee didn't know about it, and he was Sam's guardian.

And then Sunstreaker, very calmly, as if he weren't killing Sam with horror and embarrassment, announced, in the middle of an official meeting, with everyone—Autobots and humans alike—attending, that he'd taken Sam as his apprentice, as was the custom on Cybertron.

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><p>"And that concludes the briefing."<p>

Prowl was just winding down the meeting, and Sam was just about falling asleep from boredom, except, of course, he was the Autobot Ambassador, so he was supposed to stay awake and pay attention.

Sunstreaker raised one hand, silencing the tactician and making Sam frown in confusion.

"Yes, Sunstreaker?" Prowl asked, doorwings twitching at the unexpected interruption. "Is there something you'd like to say?"

Sideswipe snickered, and realization hit Sam like a ton of bricks. He leaped to his feet, eyes widening in horror. "Sunstreaker, you slagging piece of rusted scrap! Don't you dare!"

Sunstreaker smirked slightly. "Samuel Witwicky is my apprentice. I've claimed him under Cybertronian laws."

"I'm gonna kill you." Sam muttered, wishing he could just fall into a hole and disappear. "I am so gonna kill you."

"Your apprentice in what, exactly?" Optimus asked slowly.

"Art."

". . . What?" It was Lennox who broke the silence.

"You weren't supposed to tell anybody." Sam hissed, glaring at Sunstreaker. "Why did you tell them? You didn't even want to tell them!"

"Your previous "work" was an embarrassingly pathetic waste of talent." Sunstreaker said flatly.

"Just for that I'm drawing you as a stick figure!" Sam grabbed a pen and one of Glenn's papers from the hacker and began drawing stick figures with a vengeance before flinging the paper at the yellow mech and stalking over to the raised ramp that led to the door. "And even if my drawings were "a waste of talent" does not mean you get to blurt my secrets out for the entire world to hear!"

Mirage gave Sam a considering look. "You must be very talented."

Sam stopped, two feet away from the door. "Um . . . no, not really."

"Sunstreaker took you on as his first apprentice. That says quite a bit about your skill level." Elita tilted her head to one side. "He was famous on Cybertron—his paintings sold for millions of credits, and for all of the artists that flung themselves at him, he never bothered to give them the time of day."

"Err, that's great. I'm just . . . ah . . . going to go have a mental breakdown . . . preferably in a closet, so, um . . . yeah. Bye!" Sam quickly made his break for freedom, eager to get away before anyone could start interrogating. He'd just made it outside when his phone buzzed, signalling a text. It was Bumblebee.

**Why didn't u tell me?**

Sam sighed. **I didn't tell anyone. It didn't seem so important, just something I did for fun. Sorry if I hurt your feelings. We good?**

He got a smiley face in response, and he smiled back at the phone.

Then his smile faded. He still had to explain this to Mikaela.

"Slag."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer and Stuff: Okay, I couldn't resist expanding this piece of drabble. No, I do not own Transformers or anything else that you might recognize, except for the crazy idea of Sunstreaker giving Sam art lessons. Yes, this might seem OOC.

This chapter was inspired by this plot bunny by alabaster demon from livejournal:

_Sunstreaker realizes that the sand all around the Ark would be perfect for glass-blowing. Perhaps it's time he took up a new artistic medium._

I just tweaked it a little bit.

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><p>Sunstreaker was standing outside the entrace of the base, staring at the ground. To be more precise:<p>

Sunstreaker was staring at the sand.

Several of the human soldiers were giving him odd looks, but they'd learned a long time ago not to mess with him. The only humans he seemed to tolerate were Sam, Will, Epps, and to a degree, Mikaela, but only because she was Ratchet's apprentice and knew how to aim with a wrench.

It was exactly one week since he'd made the announcement that Sam was his apprentice. Mikaela had been somewhat miffed, but after Sam bought her chocolates, she'd accepted his apology. His parents, on the other hand, gushed about his talent until Sam went into hiding out of pure embarressment.

Sam, who was currently attempting to escape from all of the people asking to see his art, wandered over to Sunstreaker, reasoning that he'd be less likely to get bothered if he was with the frontliner. "Hey, Sunstreaker. What're you doing?"

Sunstreaker was silent for a while, then turned toward him. "We," He said slowly. "Are going to learn a new medium."

"We are?"

"Yes. We are."

"Oh." Sam seemed at a loss for words. "So, uh . . . what are we learning, then?"

"Glassblowing."

". . . Are you serious?" Sam squeaked.

"There's plenty of sand we can use." Sunstreaker said, more as if he was speaking to himself. Nodding decisively, he stood up, grabbing Sam, who, now used to it, didn't protest, and marched off to Wheeljack's lab. "We'll need the right tools." He said when Sam asked where they were going. "And to do that, we need the material."

"Why do I get the feeling this is going to be harder than painting?" Sam muttered to himself.

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><p>Their first attempts turned out badly. Sunstreaker misjudged the amout of force needed to blow and ended up making a weird, spiral-like blob that looked like it'd exploded and then been clumsily smooshed back together. Sam was no better-his turned into one long, misshappen, hollow thing that vaguely resembled a tear shape. After numerous attempts, and failings, they managed to get the hang of it.<p>

Thankfully, Sunstreaker's reputation ensured that no one bothered them while they worked-a few people, like Mikaela and Sideswipe, were allowed to watch. Optimus had allowed them to use a hangar bay turned storage room for their experimenting. It was an out of the way place for most soldiers and Autobots to go, so they were rarely inturrupted.

Things had gone smoothly for over two months, so it was inevitable that something would happen.

And something did happen.

The Decepticons attacked.

To put it in a different perspective, the Decepticons attacked the base while Sunstreaker was glassblowing and Sam was sketching him working.

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><p>Sam jumped as the alarm started blaring, ruining his sketch as the charcoal his was using slipped in his hand, crossing out Sunstreaker's head in a nice black streak. Sam stared at it for a moment, then looked up at Sunstreaker, who was covered in molten glass.<p>

The two echanged looks.

"Shall we?" Sunstreaker asked, optics narrowed as he gestured at the door.

"By all means, yes." Sam said calmly, setting aside the ruined picture.

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><p>Optimus and Megatron were in the middle of exchanging their normal insults and challenges when Sunstreaker came storming out of the base, Sam sitting on his shoulder, weilding a machine gun. Both wore equally ticked off looks, verging on near-murderous.<p>

Scratch that. They _were_ murderous.

"Oooh boy." Sideswipe said, optics widening as he took in his brother's appearance. "You might want to start running." He advised Starscream, whom he was currently facing off with.

"And why would I want to do that?" Starscream asked with a sneer.

"Sunny's _mad_. Mad as in, you just ruined his paintjob and whatever art project he was working on at the same time. And Sam . . ." Sideswipe did a double-take at his expression. "Looks ready to kill. I think you just ruined both of their projects."

Starscream didn't have a chance to respond, as he was forced to retreat because of the hail of bullets and cannon fire aimed in his direction.

"Hey!" Sideswipe complained indignantly, ducking a bullet. "Watch where you're shooting!"

"If you don't want to get shot, then get out of the way!" Sam yelled back. "Get back here, you chickens!"

Skywarp, wisely, did not obey his order and warped away, and Starscream followed his example, making a hasty retreat.

Optimus and Megatron exchanged looks, then Optimus calmly stepped away from the warlord.

"Where are you going?" Megatron demanded furiously. "Are you too much of a coward to face me, Pri-?"

The next instant, he was tackled to the ground by a yellow blur.

Sam, who had run out of ammo, stood next to Bumblebee, where Sunstreaker had left him, cheering, "Kick his head in, kick his head in!"

Several of the Autobots in the near vicinity gave him alarmed looks, including his guardian.

Megatron finally managed to knock down Sunstreaker and scrambled away, furiously ordering a retreat and spluttering useless threats to save face. Not that he had much face to save, as he was covered in purple and lime green spray paint where he wasn't covered in dents.

There was a dead silence for exactly sixty seconds after they'd gone. Then Sam turned to Sunstreaker and said, "So after Ratchet lets us out of the med bay, do you wanna try turning Starscream into our next piece of art? 'Cause I think hot pink would really look good on him. And maybe a tiara or something. Just think about it: Princess Starscream."

Sunstreaker paused, giving him a considering look.

"Princess?"

Sam smirked.

"You wanna give him a frog prince too, or just a frilly ballgown?"

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><p><em>Like teacher, like student. :)<em>

_**Does anyone have any suggestions about other kinds of art they should dabble in?**  
><em>


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, thank you everyone for your awesome suggestions! I love the fact that you all took the time to read this story, and give me ideas, and I really regret the fact that I can't use all of them.

I'd love to use all of them, but I can't. Some of them I find impractical and some of them I just don't feel comfortable writing. (Sorry. They were good suggestions, though. Very unique. I just don't think I can work with them.) :( The ones I will be using for sure are mech/human tattoos, jewellery making, metalwork, wood carving, and origami, but I may find ways to use the other suggestions.

Once again, I do not own Transformers nor do I make any profit from this, just the satisfaction I get from your lovely reviews. The only thing I own is the crazy idea of Sunstreaker and Sam blundering their way through new art experiences and insane lessons. Warning-this will be very OOC.

And now, for the chapter you've all been waiting for . . .

I present to you, Princess Starscream!

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><p>Something was wrong.<p>

Something was very, very wrong.

The entire base knew that something was wrong, and it had to do with the master and apprentice—Sunstreaker and Sam.

Bumblebee shifted uneasily, watching the two as they sat next to each other and held a whispered conversation.

It wouldn't be all that worrying, except for the fact that both of them had maniacal grins and occasionally would let out a very evil and insane laugh while rubbing their hands together.

Sideswipe patted Bumblebee on the back as the scout let out a miserable whine. "Don't worry, Bee. I'm sure they're . . ." His cheerful expression wavered and turned into a grimace as he stared at his brother. "Up to no good and are probably going to kill, mutilate, and or damage something." He slumped over with a depressed sigh, ignoring Bumblebee's alarmed look. "Sunny won't even tell me what they're planning. He's even blocking me off from our bond." He moaned. "And he's been ignoring me the entire day."

"Hehehe," Sam smiled at them in a rather frightening manner as Sunstreaker tucked a datapad away. "By the time this day is over . . . we will have our revenge."

Sunstreaker smirked evilly. "Shall we go and . . . execute some vengeance?"

"Oh yes, lets." Sam jumped onto his hand with a diabolical grin.

For the first time, Bumblebee noticed his charge was holding a machine gun. Before the, now very alarmed scout could say anything, the two raced out of the room, shrieking with maniacal laughter.

"Should we call Ratchet?" Sideswipe asked, staring at the empty doorway.

Bumblebee's head thudded into the table as his radio switched on. :_S.O.S! I'm in distress, someone save me now! . . . We're doomed, aren't we?:_

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><p>Starscream had the nagging feeling that something was going to go really, really wrong today.<p>

Frowning, he stalked through the hallways of the Decepticon base, heading toward the fresh air and clean sky, reasoning that his apparent twitchiness was the result of being cooped up inside for so long. If he'd known what was going to happen to him, he wouldn't have left the base at all.

But, unfortunately for Starscream, and fortunately for two certain revenge hungry miscreants, he had no clue and as such went willingly to his doom.

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><p>"There he is! There he is!" Sam wriggled excitedly.<p>

"Alright, I'll pin him down when he starts to skim the ground, and you grab the supplies." Sunstreaker ordered, grinning darkly up at the Seeker. "Don't move until I give the order."

Starscream, unknowing of the two hiding below him, decided to transform as he flew closer to the ground, obviously intending to land.

"Perfect." Sam smirked. "He'll never know what hit him."

"NOW!"

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><p>All Starscream heard was the word "NOW!" and then something large and yellow smashed into him, grabbing a wire in his neck and yanking before he had time to react. At that moment, he realized three things. One, it had been a big mistake to leave base. Two, he was being attacked by an Autobot and a human. And three, he now was unable to move.<p>

Sunstreaker snickered in a manner befitting a Decepticon, the human—Sam Witwicky—also looked triumphant. "Now, for our revenge . . ."

And then Starscream caught sight of what the yellow mech was holding. _Oh . . . Slag._

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><p>Megatron stared in silence at the Seeker standing in front of him.<p>

". . . Starscream . . . what is . . . _that?_"

"What does it look like?" Starscream snarled, busily attempting to claw the mounds of pink, frilly fabric off while wrestling with the sparkly pink tiara that was perched on his helm on top of a large blonde wig made of yellow yarn. Both were solidly glued on, however, and they were not coming off any time soon. "Stupid Autobot . . . stupid squishy . . ."

"Are you saying that a _human_ did that to you?" Skywarp broke in incredulously, the prankster torn between laughing and staring.

"Don't laugh, moron." Starscream said, a sudden, smug grin crossing his face, which was painted to look like he was wearing make-up. "Because that insignificant squishy just got our glorious leader."

Heads turned to face Megatron, who'd suddenly turned green with spots, rubber webbing stretched over his claws, and a fake gold crown glued to his head.

"_What?_" Megatron roared furiously, seeing his reflection in a consol. "What is this . . . slag?"

"This, Lord Megatron," Starscream said with a satisfied snicker. "Means you are my very ugly frog prince! Mwahahaha!" He flounced away, still laughing at Megatron's enraged expression as he dodged cannon fire.

* * *

><p>Optimus stared at the massive poster decorating the rec. room. It depicted the most insane of subjects—Megatron painted to look like a frog, and Starscream dressed like a princess wearing a tiara and a frilly pink dress. He glanced over at Sam and Sunstreaker, who were wearing twin looks of evil satisfaction and sighed. "I don't want to know, do I?"<p>

"No, sir. You probably don't." Sideswipe said with a serious expression, trying to keep a broad grin off his face. "But they're watching the video here later."

Optimus contemplated Megatron's green face before smirking behind his battle mask. "I'll need to see the damage report anyway."


End file.
